


The Color of Magic

by lameafpun



Category: Howl no Ugoku Shiro | Howl's Moving Castle
Genre: Angst, F/M, Inconfidence?, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sadness, but also hope?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-10-31 14:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10901664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lameafpun/pseuds/lameafpun
Summary: Thoughts of returning to the castle had crossed your mind often. Eventually, you knew you'd go back. You just hoped it was under more favorable circumstances.





	1. Chapter 1

The night was quiet, dark, maybe even a bit melancholy. The stars shone brightly overhead, the moon illuminating the forest around you, though not quite enough that a fire wasn’t necessary. 

You had drifted off a bit earlier when the sky was just starting to turn a bit more orange, tired from your day of travel, and had just managed to stumble into the clearing and slump against the log in the center of the suspiciously cleared circular field of ground. Some of your gear (your various bottles of extract of this and that, an array of powders, and a medallion you’d received from a good friend of yours a while back) had managed to roll out of their secure little pockets of your pack, well, not so secure pockets, you guess. Honestly, you really could have just charmed the little patchy knapsack you slung over your shoulder during your travels. Or you could have bought another bag.

Laziness in a witch wasn’t very attractive.

Wincing, you pushed yourself up from the log you’d collapsed against. The bark and little branches stuck painfully into your back, and ghosting a hand over your back you could feel quite a few painful little divots that would probably need to be treated with some star grass salve later…

With a heave, you braced yourself against the log (that you now noticed to be infested with ants - actually, they looked a tad big for…ants…) and pushed off into a standing position. Legs creaking and back strongly protesting this new position, you patted away the dirt and dust that had collected on your well-worn traveling trousers. Only three or so days into the great trek (Ok, maybe not great trek. A week, tops) between Kingsbury and Porthaven and you were already missing the airy feeling of your beloved (f/c) dress you’d charmed to never dirty. It had been the very first thing you’d charmed, actually - the first successful attempt at charms after destroying about ten dresses in the process. 

It had been your favorite dress - a simple, cotton fabric a-line cut with a somewhat poofy skirt that made you feel like a princess without rendering you completely useless by the sheer puffiness. Right now, it was sitting at the bottom of your pack, wrapped in old newspaper, under a layer of pants, shirts, a raincoat, a sweater, and bits and bobs you needed for spells and the like. 

The sun had finally disappeared beneath the skyline, the moon emerging in turn. 

Shadows leaned into the clearing, grabbing for you with long tendrils of darkness and a campfire suddenly didn’t sound like such a bad idea. 

With carefully controlled gestures, an abnormally loud snap echoed into the clearing, a small cloud of dust mushrooming around you while a blast of heat hit you in the face. 

“Right,” You murmured to yourself as you bent down to the knapsack, hands shaking almost imperceptibly, “Too much emotion equals too much energy equals burnt eyebrows and those didn’t grow back quite well last time.” 

You drew out the little medallion that had fallen out earlier, a little flame emblazoned on the front. 

It didn’t look valuable in the least. It had been carved crudely out of wood that, over months of being crushed in your pack, had splintered somewhat. The little flame had been hastily whittled into the wood, it looked more like a collection of lines rather than an actual design. 

Hopefully, Markl wouldn’t get into mind reading or whatever the fancy name of that magic was called. You’d never forgive yourself if you hurt his feelings about his first successful attempt at summoning magic. (Well, a certain subgroup of magic that was derived from summoning - it wasn’t exactly the same but - ech, you usually left the teaching and explaining things up to your teacher) 

Summoning a ball of (f/c) light to your palm, you let it flicker for a few seconds, the pleasant crackling of the fire distracting you, before you focused it onto the tip of your finger and pressed it to the middle of the flame. 

Walking was so overrated, health be damned.

Besides, Howl owed you one.

 

You kicked the heavy wooden door shut behind you, taking the stairs immediately in front of the door two at a time, nearly tripping on the way up. 

“Howl!” You let your gaze sweep over the entrance-slash-living room-slash-kitchen, the piles and piles of dirty dishes, fossilized food, and general mess everywhere not even shocking anymore. “Jenkins!”

Again, no response. Sighing, you wandered over to Calcifer’s fireplace, skirting around the table in the middle of the room that had long ago been consumed by a mass of old papers and moldy food. He glanced up at you as you rounded the corner of the table, his mouth quirking down into a frown. 

“Hey, Cal.”

“(name).” He grudgingly returned the greeting, all the while refused to even look in your direction. 

“…Are you mad?” No response and that seemed to be a theme going on this evening. Rolling your eyes, you leaned over into the gigantic hearth, hair slipping from your shoulders in the process and dipping into the ash. Ignoring this, you leaned dangerously close to the little flame. “Calcife-er."

The flame demon glared up at you, eyes fiery. “He sulked around the castle for a straight month after you left, like dealing with regular Howl isn’t enough.” 

The teasing smile drops abruptly from your face, head tilting downwards. Calcifer blinks at this. Usually, you’d just snort and say something snarky along the lines of “the words ‘regular’ and ‘Howl’ have no business being in the same sentence.” 

He barely catches the pained looked that flits across your face, wrinkling your brow and making your eyes shine for the briefest of moments. 

Suddenly, your head snapped back up and the corners of your mouth twitched up into a weak smile. 

“I am sorry about that.” You murmured, reaching down to pick at the most recent patch you’d sewn onto your knapsack. The threads gave way, you’d have to sew that back on later. The thought echoed in your mind as you glanced blandly up at Calcifer, the smile somewhat stronger now. “The wilds of Ingary were calling me.” 

Calcifer was an all-powerful fire demon (his own words), it was easy enough for him to tell when you were lying, or at least telling a half-truth. His little fiery eyes narrowed even more at you, scrutinizing. 

“How’s Pendragon?” It was meant to sound casual, Calcifer thinks, but there’s a genuine interest that makes you lean forward even further into the great piles of ash that surrounded him. There’s a flash of emotion that crosses your face, a hopeful (is that what that was?) lift of your brows that made your eyes stand out, the intense glint of - sadness? Melancholy? 

Calcifer rose two tendrils of flame in what looked like a shrug. “Eh, moving around, lazing about the castle, ‘collecting young women's hearts’ - that folk tale never gets old, lemme tell ya.” 

At the mention of the rumor, the infamous rumor, your shoulders tensed. Calcifer could see clearly into your face, and it was filled with pain and heartache. 

…Markl had been right.

“Oh.” That single word - well, sound, really, - was so understanding, so atypical of the bitingly sarcastic way Calcifer usually spoke it hurt. Breath catching in your throat, stuck on at least a years worth of emotion that had been pushed just below the surface, you let your face fall into your hands. The calluses on your palms and fingers (too rough) dug into your cheeks (not smooth, not like theirs), then grated against your scalp as you ran your hands through your hair (not the length that he preferred - too long - too short? Not deep, auburn brown like hers with the shiny braid). 

As you sat there in the creaky wooden chair you’d drawn up to the hearth, head in your hands, heart beating painfully in your chest, the front door creaked open. Light laughter, feminine and thick with alcohol accompanied with deeper, dearer chuckles that made you shiver. 

The door slid shut before someone kicked it harshly, jingling the bell on the wall above nearly violently. Your eyes were glued to the stones of the heart just below your face. The clack of heels on the stairs (the stones were worn and gray, old and cracked), accompanied by the clunk of heeled dress shoes (he let you try them on once, they were too narrow and uncomfortable) mixed together with the unmistakable sound of whispered sweet nothings; the castle was quiet, too quiet and the lilting words penetrated the natural silence. 

As you heard the little affections, you couldn’t help imagining yourself on the receiving end. For a second, the illusion held and his glass blue eyes were gazing lovingly into your own, his long, pale arms wrapped around you as you buried your hands into his soft, shoulder length light blond strands, letting your hands trail down the side of his face, caressing him, before finally tugging him by the collar of his pink and purple suit jacket down to you - 

A name pierced through your dream, “Evelyn” spoken breathlessly, and you shook yourself out of the dream, the illusion. That’s all it would ever be. 

You were silent, staring down at the aging stones that made up Calcifer’s hearth, as the couple stumbled drunkenly past the table and to the staircase that led to the rest of the castle. Neither of them seemed to notice you, the hunched figure sitting on the terribly wobbly chair, and they disappeared up the stairs. 

Glancing back up at Calcifer, you offered a tired smile. “Bad time to come back, I guess.” 

The familiar thin line he sported whenever he was about to properly berate someone was back. 

“You should tell him.”

A shuddering sigh escaped you, your hands coming down to rub at your wrists. No longer able to keep comfortable eye contact with the demon, you peer down to fix your gaze onto the scar on your forearm. “Tell him what?” 

“You know as well as I do that you’re not that dumb, (name).” Calcifer scoffed, though there was no real heart put into it. 

“I can’t.” 

Calcifer says nothing, but his flames burn brighter and his mouth pinches. 

At that, your head snaps up. “And?” You hiss. “What good would that do - spilling my heart out to him?” Calcifer nearly shrinks back; he’s never seen you this…angry before. Your eyes are shining, face screwed up in a way he’s never seen before but knows is you fighting to keep from bursting out. 

“You know the rumors as well as I do - he goes after pretty young women, wins their heart and then flees as if they hadn’t loved him in the first place. I can’t - I’m not - I “ You shake your head, letting it drop onto the cold surface of the hearth. 

There is silence, and you think Calcifer may have just dropped it. “I still think you should tell him.” A mirthless laugh escaped you. He really wasn’t going to let this go, was he? 

The chair screeched against the floor as you pushed away from the hearth. “Would you mind putting the heat on in my room?” 

There was an exasperated groan and it was sure to be sweltering in your room, but that’d be better than the uncomfortably cold nights you spent in the woods. 

As you climbed the stairs, you directed one last comment towards Calcifer. “I’ll say hey to Markl in the morning, then I’ll be going. There was this really interesting advancement in this subtype of enchanting - water breathing and the witch behind it - “ The last part wasn’t convincing in the least, but Calcifer said nothing as you ascended the stairs. 

 

—————————

 

Howl wasn’t drunk. He was a fickle little man (though, he’d argue the ‘little’ part) who played with women’s hearts, a playboy, but that didn’t make him stupid. Besides, being a wizard came with quite a few occupational hazards (obviously) and he couldn’t risk being intoxicated out of the comfort of his own home. 

But when he’d seen Evelyn, all sultry curves and honey and a familiar playfulness that made his heart skip a beat and made warmth pool in his stomach, he knew he’d just have to know her. 

As he’d sidled up to her at the bar, all roguish smiles and flirtatious flattery that had worked a thousand times before, he knew by the way her lips curved and her bosom was pushed forwards into his field of view that she was his that night.

A few drinks later and they were already well-acquainted enough for Howl to bring up taking her home. She had responded by lifting a sculpted, dark haired eyebrow and murmuring, “What are we waiting for?” in a way that made the warmth burn so, so pleasantly. 

 

Getting Evelyn through the door was an affair. Her hands roamed his body with a familiarity that had been established over the course of their walk to the portal. As Howl had pulled out the keys to the unassuming building, her hand brushed up against a particularly sensitive part of his body, the only thing keeping her from grabbing him a thin layer of cotton. 

He nearly moaned. With one arm, he reached for Evelyn and pulled her to him, molding her back against his front. They fit perfectly, he thought a little breathlessly as her head fell back, settling on his shoulder. He leaned forwards, guiding her up the stairs as he whispered into her ear, felt her shiver delightedly as his words pierced through the haze. 

Together, they stumbled through the living room, oblivious to the state of it (thank god, Howl thought). Until, in the midst of their caresses and, in Evelyn’s case, squeezes, a small crackle reached Howl’s ears. It was surely Calcifer and he’d probably greet him with a raised eyebrow the next morning, like he always did, so he didn’t know why he even bothered to look over. 

As his hands slid down to Evelyn’s hips, he glanced over to see the figure slumped over at the hearth and his heart nearly stopped, the warmth instantly extinguished. The world slowed. 

It had been nearly two months since you’d left - well, thirty-nine days if you wanted to be exact. No matter how much Howl wanted to halt the little counter in his head, he couldn’t help but note your absence. It was like another part of his heart had gone missing, which didn’t seem right because Calcifer was his entire heart. 

And yet, as he stood swaying at the corner of the impressively cluttered table and his eyes traced over your form, the dirty (h/l) (h/c) hair (from being on the road, he thought), the charmed jacket he’d given you a year ago, the trousers you’d ‘borrowed’ from him (he knew you had no intention of giving them back), love swelled in his chest. 

He’d loved you. Did love you. Will love you - well, he hoped. His luck so far in that endeavor was…it was shit. Shit. No way around that, he guessed. Jealousy could only get you so far. 

But Evelyn wiggled her hips against him and her ruby red lips tilted to meet his, the world continued to spin, and Howl leaned into her.


	2. Courageous

'If I had been more courageous…’ 

…but 'what if’s' were useless now. 

There was an achingly familiar pressing on your heart, a sensation you’d become well acquainted with during your time away. But while you had been away it had become a duller ache, something you could shove to the back of your mind. Now…now it was impossible. Because you were in his castle, in his home that had once been your own, where everything was him. Even in your own room, there was nothing that wasn’t Howl. 

The bed you had bought on an outing with Howl, when you had been complaining about the old one and how it was going to give you a bad back. He’d taken you out to a nearby city and bought you a new mattress, headboard, frame, everything, all the while keeping an arm wrapped around your shoulders so casually you’d lost yourself and leaned into him, wrapping your own around his hips. (Even though Howl didn’t have a heart, there was something burning underneath his skin that made him want to curl up with you on a rainy day.)

The walls you’d painted together with enchanted color that changed depending on the weather (because there were no windows and you missed the outside.)The spell had backfired at one point and you’d ended up with bright purple and neon yellow hair. Howl had been able to get out a laugh before the spell rebounded off the wall next to him and he’d been stuck with hot pink hair. He had looked so horrified, you couldn’t hold back a wild laughter that left you in tears. (He had never thought you’d looked more beautiful.)

The dark red patterned rug that covered the floor where a burn mark marred the light, white oak boards. (A spell of Howl’s that had backfired.)

The giant bookcase that took up an entire wall - your door would knock into it every time you left and came into the room. You couldn’t even fully open the door. It was half filled with Howl’s books - he said that his bedroom was already filled so he shoved his books onto you. (So he had an excuse to come into your room as often as he could.) They were mixed with yours so hopelessly you both forgot which ones were his and which ones were yours. 

Even the room itself reminded you of him - it was small and cozy, like his hugs.

The ache in your heart came back with a vengeance, pressing down onto your lungs like a weight. Gods, it hurt. 

As you sink down into the soft mattress, your day clothes still on, and the smell of incense and magic and spices flooded you, the image of Evelyn flashed behind your lids. 

Your stomach hurts.

 

 

 

 

When you wake up, the ceiling is stormy and there are drops of dark blue falling down the walls. Your face feels swollen and your eyes are itchy and, if you had a mirror, probably red. The trousers you had on were still dirty when you fell into bed, as was the shirt and there’s an emptiness where your heart should be. (You hoped that would last longer than it usually did.)

There’s a knocking on the door and you eye the brass door knob while rubbing your puffy face. 

“Come in.” A few minor illusion charms is all that’s needed, but your voice is falsely sweet. 

There’s a creak and a light, and you forgot that you didn’t have a lamp in the room because damn is that bright, and soft, somewhat clompy footsteps that aren’t Howl’s but they’re - 

“Markl.” There’s a real, genuine smile that’s being returned by the sweetest little boy you’ve ever met.

“(name)!” He runs up and hugs you, burying his face into the tan fabric of your cotton jacket. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too. You still stuck on learning from him?” He looks up at you, his dark eyes squinting (and, you notice, a bit shiny.)

It was worth a try. 

Markl turns back into your jacket and you ruffle his reddish brown hair, internally marveling at his height. He surely couldn’t have been this tall when you left - had he? 

You kneel, tugging him closer.

 

You travel downstairs, Markl in tow. His eyes are shining in excitement, passion, as you tell him of your travels and all of the new spells you’d come across. 

“And there was this one man - Markl, it was amazing - who came up with a way to travel through people’s consciousness." Your hands gesticulated wildly as you babbled, but Markl somehow looked like he was following. "It was amazing! He used the sun and moon’s position to determine the lunar frequency of - “

You fly down the steps, bag banging against your hip with each stride. The charms weren’t meant to last and as you had passed the bathroom earlier in the hallway, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. Red was starting to return to your face, your eyes. 

You landed on the foot of the stairs, gaze fixed on the front door. 

‘Get to the door. Get to the door, just get to the door.’ It was like a mantra, repeating over and over in your head. Through the panic, Markl’s voice just barely registered with you. 

You rounded the table, elbow brushing up against the mess on the table. The door was fast-approaching. 

The stairs were a welcome sight and this time you actually flew down them (emergency flight charm in your jacket). The knob was cool in your hands. 

“(name)?” Markl. His voice was questioning in a jarring, childish way that reminds you - he’s only ten years old. 

You turn to him, doorknob still in hand and the situation, you think helplessly, is ridiculous. He isn’t your son, you aren’t his parent and he isn’t your responsibility. If anything, he was Howl’s. Oh god, this situation is so familiar but in all the wrong ways. 

Before you could try and offer up a half-assed, pathetic explanation (that Calcifer would probably rip to shreds - you saw him flickering judgmentally in the hearth) the knob turned. 

‘Wait, what?’ was the brilliant thought you managed before the door opened and your hand dropped to your side limply and oh, it was Howl. 

‘Shit.’ Oh, wonderful, another thing to write in the yearbooks. What a quote. 

He stares at you with those beautiful, crystal blue eyes and the best you know you’ll ever be able to manage when he looks at you like that is a fat, wooden smile that made you wince. 

 

(What had you been thinking when you came back to the castle?)

 

“O-oh, Howl - I-I was just leaving, actually, so if you wouldn’t mind…” Awkwardly, you made to scooch around him. His tall frame, although skinny in a way that made you jealous, took up the entirety of the doorway. You weren’t even able to take a real step before he did and his arms, lithe and graceful, enveloped you in a hug. He smelled like perfume and magic and you can’t get enough of it, burying your face into the cloth of his pristine white shirt. His head rested against yours and you let your eyes fall closed. 

 

(Oh, right, this is what you'd been thinking.)

 

Howl’s arms tighten around you and you let your face turn upwards towards him. He meets your gaze unflinchingly, though there is a tinge of red in his face, and for some reason you feel like he’s decided something. 

A serene, tired smile lifts his lips. 

“You look beautiful.” His voice rumbles in his chest and lord, you've missed his voice (though, you're still stuck on the statement. How could he say that? You haven't even washed up yet - ), but you're saved from making a coherent response when he leans in. His eyelids slide shut, as does yours, and the next thing you feel is soft lips meeting yours - the world falls away.

 

Calcifer's exasperated, huffed 'finally' doesn't even reach you.


End file.
